Dream Chaser (Bailey Spade 3)

“Maxwell?” Valerian asks.

Nodding, the man turns away. “Those masks look like good ones, but it’ll still be safer if we talk outside.”

He hurries out of the hub, and we follow him through a maze of corridors right into what looks like a train station on Earth.

Except there aren’t usually any corpses on Earth train stations, and I spot a dozen here. The dead—at least I assume that’s what they are—are all dressed in odd clothing, their skin a strange purplish hue.

I suppress a shudder.

“What happened here?” Dylan asks, looking at a nearby man, whose face looks to have been contorted by agony before he perished.

Maxwell doesn’t stop to explain. He carefully circles around the corpses in his path and picks up the pace again as we near an exit.

We follow him out. The buildings and the storefronts outside remind me of Midtown in Manhattan—except there are no people here at all, just more corpses.

“Stay there.” Maxwell walks about fifteen feet away from us, looks back, and backs up one more step. “This should do it.”

“Do what?” I shout. “Where’s your team?”

He takes out a handkerchief and wipes at his eyes.

Puck. Is that blood on the handkerchief?

Before I can ask, he pockets the hanky with a somber expression. “They’re dead.”

On some level, I expected him to say something like that, yet it’s still a shock. They must’ve been as formidable as our team, so for all but one to be dead—

“Dead?” Fabian steps toward Maxwell, but Dylan grabs his shoulder.

“Keep the distance,” she says tensely. “If this is what I think—”

“They’re not the only ones dead.” Maxwell gestures at the nearest corpse. “The majority of this world’s population are doomed too. Just as I am.” He wipes his eyes with his bare hand and displays his fingers.

Yep. It was blood I saw.

Blood from the eyes.

If I were Maxwell, I’d be hysterical now.

“Haemolacria,” Dylan mutters. “It’s usually benign.”

“It’s the first symptom.” Maxwell wipes the blood on his shirt. “Soon I’ll have heart palpitations, then upset stomach, then just around the time my skin turns purplish red, I’ll perish.”

Pucking puck. Itzel’s masks have a huge design flaw. There’s no way to puke without taking them off—which is why I just swallow the bile down and do my best to even out my breathing.

“When?” Valerian asks, his brow furrowed.

“Depends on one’s immune system,” Maxwell says. “The orc from my party lasted four days while the elf was dead the day after.”

Slow breathing is out the window. I begin to hyperventilate.

“Does anyone else find it suspicious that he’s the last person alive?” Chester asks conversationally. “Or that he has whatever the plague is, yet has a mask on? Or is it not airborne?”

“No, the virus transmits through air droplets,” Maxwell says. “My team and I wore protective gear as we waited for you, but then the Overtaken attacked.” He takes out the handkerchief again and dabs some of the new blood away. “It’s my fault. It’s me the Overtaken wanted, and everyone protected me as well as they could. The Overtaken killed some of them outright, and ripped off masks from the faces of the others. I was the only one who managed to keep my mask on. And one of the Overtaken must’ve been sick because the team displayed symptoms soon after.”

“Then how did you catch the virus?” Dylan asks.

He shrugs. “Perhaps the virus can penetrate a mask like this, or maybe I caught it when I ate or drank. I was staying at the hospital with my team”—he gestures at a building across the street—“and in hindsight, that might’ve been a bad idea.”

I’m only partially listening as the word virus repeats on a loop in my mind. I want to run until my legs cramp up, then take a hygieia device and use it from head to toe, over and over and over again.

“So that’s why you wanted to keep the distance?” Itzel asks.

Maxwell nods.

“This has to be the same virus we came to prevent on Necronia,” Dylan says. “Icelus must’ve already let it loose on this world.”

“That’s what we assumed.” Maxwell rummages through his pocket and takes out a couple of beakers. “These are blood samples from my team. Do you think you can figure out a cure using them? There’s a lab at that hospital and—”

“Where?” Dylan’s eyes gleam with excitement.

Maxwell tells her how to locate the lab in question, and Dylan sprints across the street.

“I’ll make sure nothing attacks her,” Fabian says and rushes after her.

I try to rein in my panic. “We should give Maxwell one of the better masks. This way, when he goes to the lab with Dylan, she’s less likely to get infected.”

Everyone likes the idea, so Valerian takes out a mask from Colton’s bag and places it on the pavement.

We all step away as Maxwell approaches. Keeping his back to us as a precaution, he swaps his old mask for Itzel’s design. When he’s done, we return to our previous positions and wait for Dylan.